Till Life Do Us Part
by E.Caldwell
Summary: He didn't die. He was alive. But something died. Someone died. A part of her. The part that belonged to him.


It had always been her intention to marry Ron. After all, they had fought in a war together. No one knew her better and no one could make her laugh harder or smile wider. He was her shoulder to cry on, her star to dream with and the hand that held her steady. He was the only one she wanted to see after attending all those funerals. The only one she wanted to talk to about the horrors she had experienced. The only one she wanted to hold her after a long, tiresome day. He was the only one she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

They had dreamt about the future together, curled up on the large leather sofa in their living room, a fire blazing before them. They would spend four years getting settled, or, in other words, letting the world around them settle. During those four years, he would establish his career as an Auror and she would establish hers at the Ministry. They would spend their weekends helping Ginny and Harry at the orphanage or taking weekend trips to exotic places to escape the pressures of work. But, they had promised themselves, no matter how busy or stressful work got, they would always carve out time for each other. Then, once they were stable, they would start a family. They wanted a homey house with a large backyard and a spacious kitchen where the entire family could eat dinner. They dreamt of their children, they wanted four, two girls and two boys. Their children would attend muggle elementary school until it was time for them to go off to Hogwarts. And when they were old and content, they would sell their home and move to a cottage by the sea, where they would spend the rest of their days in the company of the ones they loved.

It would later become known as The Day. The day she came home to find his things cleared out of their closet. The day she came home to find his sports equipment gone. His shelves in the living room empty. His drawers cleaned. It was the day that she had cried until she felt as though she had nothing left to give. The day she had barricaded herself in their guest room as the sight of their room was too much. It was the day that she, normally the put together one, fell apart.

Her friends, bless their souls, tried to put her back together. They took her to dinner, and to the movies. They bought her books, magazines and movies. They dragged her to Quidditch events and to the theater. There were weekend trips to the sea, and surprise vacations to the mountains. But there was only so much they could do. Her dreams had been shattered.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Harry was asking as the two wandered aimlessly down the cobblestone street of the alley, "I know you had loved it."

"I loved _him_."

"Yes, but now you have to love _you_ and you loved that house."

It was gorgeous. A three-story picturesque looking cobblestone house with the large, fenced-in backyard they had dreamt of and a kitchen beyond her wildest dreams. They had both fallen in love with the house the minute they had arrived. She had loved the large windows that let in tons of light. He had loved the large backyard and the shed in the back where he could store all his Quidditch equipment. They had submitted an offer almost immediately and, two months later, had moved in to what they both thought had been their dream home. For the next two months, their weekends had been dedicated to making that house their home. Walls were painted, leaky faucets fixed, light bulbs replaced and flowers planted. They had argued over which couch to purchase, which room to make the office and where Crookshanks bed would sit. They had complained about squeaky floors and having to mow the lawn (which had to be done by hand, since they lived in a mug neighborhood). They laughed when the bathtub in the upstairs guest bath flooded over due to a broken pipe and when they realized they had bought the wrong sized table for the dining room. And she had cried when she discovered he had been converting the third floor attic up into a library for her.

"It was our dream home," Hermione said softly, gazing at the owls that sat in the window of the pet shop, "It was _ours_."

Harry wrapped one arm around her shoulders, and, pulling her close, kissed the top of her head in a gesture of silent understanding.

It was sweet, really, his dedication to her. His steadfast, unwavering friendship despite also being extremely close with Ron. It had been Harry who, two weeks after The Day, had come to her apartment and dragged her out the front door, declaring that a two week mourning period was more than enough and that, while he had let her wallow in her sorrows for two weeks, it was all going to end now. He had then forced her to eat dinner with him at his favorite Italian restaurant by her house and had made her smile for the first time since The Day.

"So what's your next step?"

It was a question that had occupied Hermione's thoughts nearly constantly over the past three and a half months. So much of her future had been dependent on him. So many of her dreams had been intertwined with his. He had been such a big part of her life, such a big part of her that she had needed to take some time to think about what her life meant to her without him.

"I think I'm going to take a vacation."

"The mountains of Switzerland weren't good enough for you?"

Ginny and Harry had taken her on a weekend getaway to the Swiss Alps just last weekend. They had sat out on the balcony of their resort room, wrapped in wool blankets, drinking hot chocolate and reading or chatting.

"I meant alone," Hermione said, picking up the most recent issue of The Daily Prophet and stuffing it in her oversized shoulder bag, "I need some time to think."

The two walked in silence for a second, taking in the sights of Diagon Alley. It was, once again, a bustling, vibrant community. People walked about leisurely, chatting with friends or browsing over the goods the stores had to offer as they no longer had to worry about Voldemort. The store fronts that had been completely destroyed during the war were redone and new stores had been opening like wildfire. Ollivander had been restored its former glory and Gringotts had been renovated and was now, once again, thanks to new security measures, one of the safest places in all of Britain. It had taken time, but Diagon Alley was back to being, in Hermione's opinion, one of the happiest and most welcoming places in Britain, as for four and a half years, all had been well.

"If that's what you want."

There was something about his tone. Disapproving mixed with with a bit of judgment. Hermione was perplexed. Harry almost never disapproved of her actions and certainly had never judged her for any decisions she had made. She was supposed to be the disapproving one in the relationship. And neither of them were supposed to judge each other.

"It is," Hermione said after a second, "I suppose I'll leave, sooner, rather than later."

"I suppose."

There it was again. That tone. That bitterness.

"Maybe Sunday? I'll travel the muggle way, by plane. I'll have to find someplace to stay, of course."

"Of course."

Was he mocking her? It seemed as though he was mocking her.

"Is there something you'd like to say?" Hermione asked, stopping in her tracks and turning toward her friend, hand on her hip.

Harry's eyes widened a bit.

"No, no," he said quickly, "nothing."

"Are you sure? Your tone says otherwise."

"It's just…"

Hermione raised one eyebrow toward her best friend.

"Harry?"

Harry pursed his lips and shifted uncomfortably, trying to think how to phrase his next words. They had always been close, him and Hermione. The complemented each other, her the planner, him the executer. She was the sister he never had and he was the brother she had always dreamed of.

"I…."

Hermione's eyebrow arched higher.

"It's just…I…aren't you….I…"

Harry rarely stuttered.

"He didn't die, Hermione."

Hermione, who had begun walking, stopped dead in her tracks, turning slowly to look at her best friend, her brother. "Excuse me?"

"He didn't die," Harry said, his voice gaining strength, "for the past four months, you've been acting as though he died. He didn't. He's alive. You're lucky, dammit. You're lucky that he's still living, still breathing, still able to enjoy this world. Others aren't so lucky."

Hermione opened her mouth but no words came out.

"I know it hurts," Harry continued, "I know that you two were close, that you two were…that you two had something special, something unique, something beautiful. But dammit Hermione, he didn't die."

She was shocked. Speechless.

Silence engulfed the pair. It was like they were moving in slow motion and everyone else was on fast forward. Time inched forward.

"I…"

"He's called you know," Harry said softly, reaching out to touch Hermione's arm, who flinched away, "several times. In the days following, you know, several times a day. Ginny wouldn't even speak to him, but I…he's one of my best friends."

No response.

"He's alive, Hermione. And you're acting as though he died. You've been in mourning for months! You haven't gone to work. Your barely eat and you almost never leave your house! Yes, he left, but it's been four months and you've been wandering around London as if you're the only witch who has experienced a broken heart. He isn't dead, Hermione. He's alive. Don't you think you should move on?"

He was walking on egg shells. Stuck between a rock and a hard place. But she had to hear it. And he had to be the one that told her.

"What do I think?" Hermione asked, her voice rising slightly, "I think that _he_ left _me_. I think that packed his bags while I was at work in order to avoid seeing me, talking to me, _explaining_ things to me. I think that he left without giving a reason. And you think _I_ should _move on_?"

"I...I…"

"I think that he broke my heart," Hermione spat, a mix of anger and sadness bubbling up inside her, "I think that he ruined my dreams. I think that he shattered my future. I _loved_ him, Harry. With all my heart. He was my everything. You know that. You know he was the only one that I trusted after what happened. The only one that I could really talk to. You know what he meant to me and all you can say is that he didn't die?"

"I…"

"He might not have died, Harry, but a piece of me did. The piece of me that belonged to him." She paused, her eyes narrowed, "My _heart_ belonged to him, Harry," her voice broke slightly, "My _soul_ belonged to him."

And with that she turned and disappeared off into the crowd, leaving the Boy Who Lived speechless.

_  
A/N: Read and Review!

About Me: I was on this site before, a while ago, but since then, had deleted my stories. This idea came to me at work a few days ago, and I figured I'd give it a go. As of now, this story is un Beta'd. Feel free to contact me with any questions.


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